Her own people knew better than to tease Uduri in such a way. When an Uduri wished to lie with an Uduru, she let him know. Best not to bother her about it beforehand. Dahrima had no wish to lie with any of them either, not even Hrolgar the Iron-Foot, who had been her lover many times before the migration. That was ancient history, and Hrolgar had an Udvorg wife and two children waiting for him in the Icelands.
Vireon’s pavilion stood before her now, the standard of Udurum billowing atop its center pole. Instead of the usual two Uduri placed before the entrance, a pair of Udvorg spearmen stood there. Another way the blue-skins had replaced Dahrima and her sisters. She wondered why Vireon would summon her now after ignoring her for three days.
The herald directed her toward the big tent but went no further. Dahrima expected the Udvorg guards to stop her, but they only stared at her with their blood-colored eyes. She pulled back the flap and strode inside. A blue flame danced in an iron brazier. Vireon’s greatsword and crown lay upon the bed of furs, yet the Giant-King himself was nowhere to be seen. Instead, Varda of the Keen Eyes stood waiting for her.
“Where is my lord?” Dahrima asked.
“Your King,” Varda corrected her. “Breaking his fast with Emperor Tyro.”
Dahrima paused just inside the tent. She studied the witch’s narrow eyes, her long black mane of hair, wild and uncombed as usual. Most Udvorg hair was the color of snow, but the witch’s was dark as midnight. A bronze ring hung from Varda’s nose, and twelve more just like it pierced her ears. The scars on her cheeks were angular and purposefully made. Dahrima found them exceptionally ugly. Scars should be earned in battle, not crafted by one’s own hand. Usually the witch wore a black wolf-skin cloak, but inside the tent she was dressed in a corslet of boiled leather, an Uurzian skirt of plaited bronze, and a band of silver across her forehead. Her blue feet were bare upon the damp carpets.
“I was told that Vireon summoned me,” Dahrima said. She wished to leave. The company of the blue witch was not something she could long endure.
“He did,” said Varda. She picked up her long black staff and a blue flame ignited at its tip. “You are to remain here until he returns. It will give us a chance to talk.”
Dahrima bristled beneath her breastplate of dark bronze. “I must go…”
“Will you defy the Giant-King’s orders?” asked Varda. “You will stay, Axe.”
Dahrima nodded her head and lowered her eyes. Looking at the witch’s cold beauty gave her a curious pain that she could not identify.
“Vireon tells me the Uduri have been his private guard for years,” said Varda.
Dahrima nodded.
“Yet on this coastal march your sisters travel with the Uduru instead of marching alongside their King.”
“My sisters march where they will,” said Dahrima. “I do not command them.”
Varda smiled. Her crimson eyes widened a bit. “Yet they follow you,” she said. “They flock to you like great, golden birds.”
Dahrima’s fist tightened about the haft of her spear. Was the witch trying to make her angry? Did Vireon truly summon her, or was this some trick meant to humiliate and chasten her?
“We march with the King’s forces,” said Dahrima. “We have fought and died for him. We will fight and die again. We are his true servants. This we have sworn.”
“Yes, I have heard tell of this oath. The Ninety-Nine they call you. Yet how many are left?”
“Twenty-nine marchers,” said Dahrima, “and forty guarding the walls of Udurum.”
“So few…” The words of the shamaness were full of mock sadness.
“What does His Majesty wish of me?” Dahrima asked.
“He wishes for you and your twenty-eight sisters to go home,” said Varda. “Enough of the Uduri have died in his service. Vireon does not want to see more death among the spearmaidens. Take your sisters and return to Udurum. Keep its walls strong and unbroken. Leave today.”
Dahrima could not prevent a growl from escaping her throat. “I do not believe you.”
Varda’s eyes blazed red while the flame atop her staff flared a deeper blue. “You will hear it from his own lips when he returns. You should be grateful. We are to face untold dangers from this invading horde. Perhaps you think the Uduri are expendable because they are incapable of childbirth. I can assure you Vireon does not share this view. He wishes to protect the last of you.”
Dahrima spat upon the carpet. “We are warriors! A single Uduri is worth three Uduru. We march where we will, and we have sworn to march with Vireon. We will fight.”
“Will you defy the orders of your King?”